They returned to the Saint John’s at four o’clock and the three of them waited in Jack’s room. The Russians had slept most of the day, but it was reported that each one was now cleaning up and getting dressed to go out.

Conversation in Jack’s room was minimal and stilted, as each wondered what tonight—and the future—would bring.

At five o’clock, Donato drove them back to the vicinity of the Al Medina. He parked the car and took them to a nearby church with a high cathedral entrance.

“You’ve got an OP in a church?” asked Jack.

“What is an OP?” asked Donato.

“Observation post.”

“Yes, I see. It is not a church anymore. The government has turned it into a museum. It is closed to the public at this hour.”

Jack was going to ask how the parishioners felt about their church being closed, but decided against it.

Donato led them to a small room in the back and they went inside and closed the door.

“We can’t see from here,” said Jack.

“It is not to see,” said Donato. “It is to listen,” he said, gesturing to a mass of electrical cord and recorders on a table. “Others will see for us,” he explained. “Don’t worry, there will be many pictures. This is for you and Laura to listen. You will hear with your own ears.”

“I would have believed you,” said Jack, realizing the work Donato went to in setting up this room. He understood why they would not have been allowed entry to the normal facility the Cubans would use for such activity.

Donato smiled and said, “Yes, my friend. I trust you, too. But if it ever happens that someone finds out that this meeting was in Havana, they may not believe what you tell them if you only receive the details from me. It is best to hear for yourselves. You may make notes if you like, but I will also supply you with a tape of what they say. You could record it on your own recorder, if you like.”

“Thanks. We’d never be allowed to enter the tapes as evidence in a Canadian courtroom, but it still might be good to have.”

Donato received a call on a portable radio and said, “They’ve just taken a taxi,” he said. “They are on their way.”

The Russians arrived about ten minutes ahead of their reservation, but their table was ready and they sat down.

Donato turned up the volume on a recorder and Jack and Laura could hear Fat Man and Moustache Pete talking to each other in Russian, over the clink of ice cubes and water being poured.

“I know their voices by now,” said Donato. “I will translate for you. Moustache Pete just said something about an incident at the airport. I do not know what airport. He said they still have to be careful.”

Jack heard the Fat Man laugh and make a comment.

Donato looked puzzled and translated. “Fat Man said, that is why they carry insurance. With the police, insurance is always good.”

Insurance? Wondered Jack. Is there a leak? A crooked cop or someone ...

“They’ve arrived,” said Donato. “Two Arab men. Expensive suits, Rolexes ...”

Jack heard the conversation switch to English when the two Arabs sat down with the Russians.

After some general polite talk, Jack heard one of the Arabs ask, “So, when can you deliver?”

“Our people in Sweden were successful,” said Moustache Pete. “We have two that would be most suitable. Sisters raised by a single mother. They’re thirteen and fifteen years old. Both have blonde hair, blue eyes, and, as we promised, their skin is as white as snow.”

Jack’s mouth gaped open in surprise. “This is white slavery!” he said. “Not drugs or terrorism at all!”

The recorder droned on. “And beautiful?” asked the Arab.

“Of course,” laughed the Fat Man. “Their mother thinks they are being accepted as models to do a photo shoot in Morocco. They are both beautiful! As promised, we will make delivery in June. Their mother is adamant about them finishing the school year.”

“And virgins ...” the Arab’s voice was lost over Jack’s outrage.

“These bastards are kidnapping kids to sell to the Arabs to be used as sex slaves!”

Laura saw a sense of relief on Donato’s face. A potential crisis with the U.S. had just been averted. She felt relieved herself, until she looked at Jack.

Is he enraged ... or in pain? He’s been around too long to be shocked by this. Why such anguish?

Back at the hotel in Jack’s room, Donato raised a glass of rum and Coke and said, “It went well tonight. I wish you every success in putting these two Russians in jail.”

“Hear, hear,” said Laura, clinking glasses.

“They will go to jail,” said Jack. “If it is the last thing I do on the section, I will see to that.”

“Perhaps, now,” said Donato, “your boss, Captain Pendejo,” he added, smiling at Laura, “will realize that they were worthy of your attention.”

“Perhaps,” said Jack, “except we can’t tell him what we learned or that we were even here. He would have us both fired. Regardless, even if I’m not in the section long, I will still get these guys.”

“Come on, Jack,” said Laura. “Like you said before, Quaile is fast-tracked up the corporate ladder. He won’t be around long. We just have to outlast him.”

“Moustache Pete and The Fat Man are going down,” said Jack adamantly, “one way or the other.”

“No problem,” said Laura, eyeing Jack curiously. “We just continue to work on them behind Quaile’s back. Knowing what we know now, I bet these two are supplying the women for Tran’s massage parlours. We could get VPD to help us, or we could help them. Now that we know what they’re really doing, it shouldn’t take us long to get the evidence we need.”

“Jack, Laura,” said Donato, “if you will excuse me, I still have work to do tonight. I will be here in the morning to take you to the airport.”

Laura waited until they bid good night to Donato, before turning her attention to Jack. “You going to tell me about it?” she asked.

“About what?”

“You’re keeping something from me. A secret.”

“A secret?” Jack spat out the word like it was poison.

“Yes, a secret,” repeated Laura.

Jack put his glass down on the table and turned to Laura and said, “It’s funny you used that word. Let me tell you about a secret.”

By the tone of Jack’s voice, Laura knew there was nothing funny about what she was about to hear.

“Did you know I used to have three sisters and a brother?” he asked.

Laura shook her head and said, “I just knew you had an older sister, Elizabeth, who lives out near Chilliwack.”

“I was raised in a family of secrets,” said Jack. “My father was a brutal, domineering prick who ruled the house with absolute power. That power included sexually molesting my sisters from the time they were four years old.”

Laura briefly closed her eyes and said, “Oh, Jack ... I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”

Jack sighed and said, “Neither did I, back then. I knew about the physical and psychological abuse ... but even as a policeman, I didn’t know about the sexual abuse until recently.”

“Jack ... I’m sorry. Maybe this is something you don’t want to talk about?”

Jack shook his head. “That is what the pedophiles like my father want. To keep everything secret. To try and make the children ... the victims, somehow think they are responsible. They make the children think that they have to keep the secret to maintain family unity. I’m not embarrassed to talk about it. No victim should be, either.”

“How did you find out?” asked Laura.

“My youngest sister, Bonnie, finally found the courage to tell me. Once I knew, then others admitted they had been victims, too. It turns out there were a lot. Neighbourhood children, relatives—even before my father was married, he visit orphanages and bring candy.”

“Classic,” said Laura.

“It was classic, all right. My oldest sister left home as soon as she could. Got married, had kids, but died of complications giving birth to her third child. I knew she hated my father and was extremely protective of her children—but I was too blind to put it together.”